


Whatever It Takes

by dracoqueen22



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Gift Fic, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo’s tired of fighting, but Renji and Uryuu aren’t willing to let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
**\-------------------------**  
Part One -- Uryuu  
\---------------------------

  
  
Uryuu can’t remember when it started. He can’t quite recall how or when or who made the first move. He suspects it was Renji because that bastard’s the horniest out of all of them. But Ichigo’s always the first one to rush headfirst into things, so maybe the blame rests on both Shinigami. Not that Uryuu’s any better, because he walked in with eyes wide open, and he still can’t make himself walk away.   
  
It doesn’t make any sense. It shouldn’t work. But somehow, it does.   
  
There are three of them. Sharing each other. Attempting to share the future, strongly remembering the past, blithely wandering through the present.   
  
Uryuu knows that he’s an idiot. He’s with not just one Shinigami, but two. Ryuuken would strongly disapprove if he knew, but frankly, his father has more to worry about at the moment. He’s already none too happy with Uryuu’s future career choice. Best to let the bastard stew on that for awhile before crawling out of the closet with a lover on each arm, both male, both Shinigami.   
  
Despite knowing his own foolishness, Uryuu hasn’t been able to make himself walk away yet either. He won’t be trite enough to say that he can’t imagine life without Renji or Ichigo in it, but he knows it would be quite different. And it’s a difference Uryuu doesn’t want to embrace. Even if being with the both of them can be quite aggravating at times.   
  
Tired, and with an ache building behind his temples, Uryuu shoves his key into the lock and stumbles into his apartment. Warmth and pleasant smells instantly smack him in the face, as does the gentle sound of some rather random instrumental music. Soothing pipes, harps, gentle flutes… and is that the peaceful noise of a waterfall? What the hell is Ichigo listening to?  
  
Uryuu sighs and slips out of his shoes, setting his school briefcase off to the side. He’s been sharing an apartment with Ichigo since graduating high school. Though, to be honest, Ichigo divides his time drifting between his room at his father’s house, the spare room at Uryuu’s apartment or Uryuu’s bed depending on his mood, and a guest room at Urahara-san’s shoten. Uryuu isn’t sure what place Ichigo actually calls his home.   
  
Tugging his scarf from around his neck, Uryuu hangs it on the coat-rack with his coat and runs a hand through his hair. The song playing in the background ends on a final twang of the harp’s strings and silence fills the air, soon followed by faint footsteps. If war hadn’t strengthened Uryuu’s senses, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed.   
  
He watches from the hall, staring into the main room, as Ichigo steps out of the kitchen and crosses Uryuu’s line of sight. Padding quietly up the main hallway, Uryuu pauses in the entryway, watching as Ichigo sucks the fingers of one hand into his mouth, the other hand idly adjusting the settings on the expensive CD player. Some kind of jazzy, upbeat mix of drums and vocals fills the room, an intoxicating beat that invites one to swing their hips and dance.   
  
Ichigo does, turning back toward the kitchen with a little sway of his hips that makes everything seem perfectly normal. Happy and content, splatters making a few bright red marks against the front of his grey sweater as he sucks his forefinger into his mouth, obviously licking off some sauce.  
  
Pasta it is then.   
  
Uryuu wonders when it has become so commonplace to him, to come home and find Ichigo cooking some meal or another. Either traditional Japanese fare, or basic dishes from other countries.   
  
“You’re home early,” Ichigo says, noticing Uryuu the moment he turns around, and passing Uryuu by on his way back to the kitchen. He doesn’t seem at all bothered to be caught swaying to an upbeat, Spanish tempo.   
  
“I had a test,” Uryuu answers succinctly, having not expected Ichigo to remember that minor detail. Uryuu rarely stresses over tests of any kind so he never makes an issue out of the fact he has one.   
  
Ichigo inclines his head, disappearing the kitchen where Uryuu can hear pans clatter. “Ah, that explains it.”   
  
Uryuu turns the corner, steps into the warm kitchen that carries a strong scent of tomatoes and garlic and cheese. A pan on the counter is lined with pasta, sauce, and white cheese – lasagna then. A rare treat because of the intensive labor involved.   
  
Pulling a bottle of tea out of the fridge, Uryuu twists the top open, watching as Ichigo stands at the counter, adding a final layer, body still moving to the beat. “What did you do today?”   
  
“Went to Urahara-san’s. Sparred a bit. Came here.” Ichigo shrugs, sprinkling mozzarella over the top layer of pasta. “Started dinner.”   
  
Same old, same old then. A part of Uryuu isn’t surprised. Another part of him wishes for more. Ichigo has been, more or less, drifting around, doing nothing. Ichigo doesn’t know what he wants to do so he just wanders aimlessly, fighting Hollow, making occasional trips to Soul Society, and spending the odd night in Uryuu’s bed, oftentimes with their red-headed counterpart.   
  
This Ichigo is so startlingly different from the driven, goal-oriented man Uryuu remembers from Aizen’s War that sometimes Uryuu wonders how they could be the same person. Though Uryuu can’t blame him either. Aizen’s War was easy on no one, much less Ichigo, forced to be Soul Society’s hero when all he wanted was to protect his family, his friends, his home.   
  
Ichigo pops the lasagna into the oven with a loud thunk and sets the timer, turning to look at Uryuu as he sucks pasta sauce off his finger with a lewd motion. There’s a strange look in his eyes. Today has been a bad day then. Full of memories and nightmares and things the both of them would rather forget. Uryuu understands those days all too well, he’s simply better at hiding them than Ichigo, who for all his bluff and bluster, wears his heart on his sleeve.   
  
“Should be ready in an hour, give or take,” he says, with a distracted air, but Uryuu knows what he means.   
  
An hour is plenty long enough.   
  
Uryuu hooks a finger in the knot of his tie and tugs it down, loosening it from his throat. Formal attire isn’t required by his university, but his professors respect a professional appearance, and judging from the darkening of Ichigo’s eyes, it’s an appearance that serves Uryuu well in other avenues as well.   
  
“You don’t have to make anything else?” Uryuu asks, but it’s just conversation, just words to fill a silence that’s already swelling with heat. He crosses the floor, approaching Ichigo, who’s motionless but watching him avidly.   
  
Ichigo shrugs again, pretending nonchalance. “Garlic bread. But that’s what… five minutes?” He makes no moves, just leans against the countertop, gaze predatory as it rakes Uryuu from top to bottom.   
  
Uryuu’s grown since they first met, and so has Ichigo. Even so, the height difference between them is minimal. Ichigo’s broader than he – Uryuu supposes wielding that massive sword accounts for the greater musculature – and still taller, but Uryuu is far from intimidated by that. Compared to Renji’s massive bulk, Ichigo and Uryuu are more similar in stature.   
  
Barely a foot of tiled space between them and Uryuu pauses, flicking open the top button of his white-collar shirt. “And dessert?”   
  
Ichigo’s lips twitch, as though he’s fighting off a smug grin. “I’ll leave that up to your imagination.”   
  
The space between them is all but nonexistent now and Uryuu leans closer, knowing better than to expect Ichigo to close the distance.   
  
For all Ichigo’s aggression, it’s usually Uryuu who makes the first move. He’s not sure why and he’s never asked. It’s an answer that might upset the already delicate balance that exists between them, especially when Renji is thrown into the mix. Besides, making the first move is not exactly a hardship on Uryuu’s part, just a tiny, niggling worry in the back of his mind that Ichigo has nothing invested in them.   
  
Words have never been of necessity between them, so Uryuu doesn’t bother with them now. He just closes the space between him and Ichigo with a kiss, his lips brushing the Vizard’s gently, before pressing more firmly. The taste of tomato and garlic sauce teases at his senses as Ichigo’s mouth opens to him, warm and awash with more flavors, oregano and basil and other things prevalent in pasta sauce.   
  
Hands settle on Uryuu’s hips, gripping him tightly and pulling him forward with a sharp yank so that he collides against Ichigo’s body. Uryuu’s grunt is swept away by Ichigo’s plunging tongue as the kiss deepens and Uryuu lifts a hand, tangling fingers in orangish hair, much longer and tousled than it had been in Ichigo’s teenage years. Their bodies neatly align and Uryuu swivels his hips, grinding against Ichigo’s, feeling an answering surge of Ichigo’s hips in return. The motion, an erotic mimickry of what they could be doing unclothed, makes heat stir sluggishly in Uryuu’s veins.   
  
He nips at Ichigo’s lips, lifting his other hand to press his palm against the flat of Ichigo’s abdomen. He’s a little softer on the edges, not so much rippling six pack as he is flat but still muscular. There’s less to fight nowadays, considering that the threat of Hollows can be handled by the Shinigami on duty, so Ichigo’s musculature has lost some definition, but not all of it. Uryuu’s fingers scrape against Ichigo’s abdomen over the cotton of the shirt, knowing the sensation will carry through, being all the more maddening for the inconsistency of it.   
  
The fingers on his hips flex, tightening and loosening, as Ichigo tilts his head back, letting Uryuu pepper his jaw and chin in light, nipping kisses. Ichigo’s throat is surprisingly sensitive, and Uryuu’s tongue flicks over the warm flesh, mouthing where Ichigo’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly.   
  
The heat in the room is palpable, pulsing between them, scented with tomatoes and garlic and olive oil. The oven is pumping out steadying waves of heat, but Uryuu knows that it’s not to blame. He so rarely gets Ichigo to himself that he doesn’t mind capitalizing on that opportunity then and now.   
  
His hand moves down Ichigo’s belly, fingers tickling at the waistband of Ichigo’s jeans. He hears Ichigo’s indrawn breath, feels Ichigo swallow again, a small groan of encouragement rattling against Uryuu’s lips. He drags his fingers against Ichigo’s scalp, knowing how much Ichigo enjoys it – how much he and Renji both, actually, enjoy having their heads toyed with. Pun intended.  
  
And then a voice breaks through the building tension, effectively slicing Uryuu’s rising arousal down the middle.   
  
“Startin’ without me, I see.”   
  
Uryuu draws back from Ichigo, licking his lips and glancing over his shoulder. He’s not surprised to find Renji standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed over his muscular chest. He’s wearing his shihakushou, Zabimaru nowhere in sight, with a dark heat banking behind his amber eyes.   
  
Uryuu clears his throat. “We didn’t know you were coming,” he says, and feels Ichigo’s fingers flex against Uryuu’s hip as though holding them together.   
  
Renji’s gaze flicks past Uryuu to Ichigo. “Ya never showed up,” he says, almost accusing, expressions shifting across his face, too quick to read. If there’s one thing Aizen’s War had produced, it is a more guarded expression from one usually quick to show emotion.   
  
Uryuu hates Aizen for that.   
  
Ichigo lets go of Uryuu’s hip and slides out from between Uryuu and the counter, making to peer into the oven at a lasagna that’s nowhere close to being finished. “I was busy.”   
  
“Doin’ what?”   
  
Odd that Uryuu wants to echo the same question, even as he looks between them with confusion and interest. The arousal building inside of him is already waning, becoming little more than a dull throb in his groin.   
  
“Helping Urahara-san,” Ichigo says, succinctly, and the door to the oven slams closed again, with a final note that all but screams for Renji to “drop it.”   
  
Renji sighs, sounding defeated, running a hand over his hair before stepping further into the kitchen, reiatsu swelling around him in a light buzz. Ichigo’s, too, is rising, and Uryuu gets the feeling he’s missing something here. He knows that Renji’s asked Ichigo to come to Soul Society on several occasions, to help fill in the gaps left by Aizen’s War. And Uryuu himself has often suggested Ichigo remain in the Living World, pick a major, go to college, do something other than bow to Seireitei’s whims.   
  
Neither of them likes seeing Ichigo so aimless.   
  
“Ukitake-taichou was lookin’ forward ta lunch with ya,” Renji says.   
  
Uryuu gets it then. He snorts, leaning with a hip against the counter. “Another attempt at persuading him to take the fifth division, I take it?”   
  
The Shinigami twitches. “No,” Renji denies, but it sounds defensive. Renji’s always been a poor liar.   
  
Ichigo, unsurprisingly, pretends as if he’s not listening to either of them. As if their conversation is not related to him in any way. A worrisome habit that’s become more frequent as of late.   
  
“I’m not an idiot, Renji,” Uryuu says with an audible scoff, eyes narrowing, hard and annoyed. “The only way you could have been more obvious was if you had said Kuchiki-taichou and fukutaichou were going to be there.”   
  
Judging by the flush of red that starts in Renji’s cheeks, Uryuu has hit the truth on the marker. Uryuu resists rolling his eyes. It figures. Three of the faces that Ichigo most respects? How can it be anything but another play at convincing Ichigo to abandon the Living World and his life here?   
  
“It was a friendly lunch,” Renji retorts, with emphasis, as though that’s going to make him any better of a liar. “No implications. Just catchin’ up on old times.”   
  
Along with reminding Ichigo just how bad off Soul Society is right now and they can use all the hands they can get. At least, until Ichigo’s out grown his usefulness and Seireitei starts to believe he’s more threat than helping hand. That’s how it had been with the Quincy, after all, and Uryuu isn’t holding his breath that anything’s changed. In fact, he would be surprised if Soul Society hasn’t become more suspicious after Aizen’s War.   
  
Sure Seireitei has welcomed the returning Vizard with open arms. But for how long? And Uryuu knows that all is not peaches in Soul Society. There’s still distrust, uncertainty, Shinigami who are wary of the ones with Hollow powers in their midst. As though they can become infected by the Vizard’s proximity or something equally idiotic and offensive.   
  
Does Renji honestly think Ichigo will be treated any better? Or is he that desperate to have Ichigo to himself, in Soul Society, where Uryuu can’t follow except on Urahara-san’s whims or walking hand in hand with one of his two Shinigami lovers?  
  
Except that Uryuu doesn’t think Renji has it in him to be so sneaky. He thinks it more a product of being unable to look before he leaps, or thinking things through. Renji’s acting on instinct. He knows Soul Society needs help and he knows Ichigo is stuck in a rut – he’s just trying to kill two birds with one stone.   
  
That doesn’t mean Uryuu is any less pissed off.   
  
“Besides,” Renji says before Uryuu can so much as form a retort, already feeling a righteous anger building inside of him. “If Ichigo wants to come to Soul Society for lunch, that’s his decision ta make and not yers, Uryuu.”   
  
“Except that he didn’t,” Uryuu reminds him, perhaps a touch too smug, hands hanging lax at his side but fingers twitching. Sparks of reiatsu dancing from fingertip to fingertip in light blue arcs. He’d never draw Ginrei Kojaku against Renji, but he can’t say the same for the other manipulative members of the Gotei-13, and the thought of them trying to persuade Ichigo makes Uryuu furious.   
  
Renji works his jaw, amber eyes flashing with fire, mouth opened to retort—  
  
The freezer door slams shut with a startling enough noise that Uryuu jumps, despite his usually keen senses. Renji has the good sense to look ashamed while Uryuu schools his expression into something resembling innocence as both of their gazes move to Ichigo. The Vizard isn’t looking at either of them as he tosses a box of frozen garlic bread onto the counter, in the direction of a pan already covered in aluminum foil.   
  
The slam is more or less just a way of gathering their attention. There’s a tightness to Ichigo’s shoulders, a cautious, restrained edge to his movements that proves he’s had enough. If not for the physical proof, Uryuu would know it just by the unsettled nature of the reiatsu swirling about his body.   
  
Tension whips through the room like an invisible weapon.   
  
“I think you two can handle dinner yourselves,” Ichigo says, his voice uncharacteristically cold. “It’s obvious you don’t need my input.” He turns, without looking at either of them, heading for the door.   
  
Uryuu takes a step forward. “Ichigo--”  
  
Renji’s there too, trying to block the Vizard’s exit. “Aw, come on, Ichi--”  
  
“No,” Ichigo says, brown eyes looking heatedly between them, creeping toward gold and black, his voice growing harsher. “I’m tired of it. Tired of listening to you two bicker like a couple of kids fighting over their favorite toy. I’m done.”   
  
“That’s not--”  
  
“It is!” Ichigo snaps, interrupting Uryuu before he can so much as speak, one hand slashing through the air. “It’s hard enough with two people but three? Obviously it’s not going to work. I’m always going to feel like the chew toy between two dogs. You two can have your little tug-of-war and I’ll just be on my way.”   
  
Uryuu’s heart climbs into his throat. It’s not the first time Ichigo’s said something similar, but he’s never seen that look in Ichigo’s eyes either. Previously, they’d been able to calm Ichigo down, but there’s a tension running through Ichigo’s body, as though he’s throwing up his hands and throwing in the towel.   
  
“Can’t we talk about this?” Renji says, all in a rush, as though afraid Ichigo will walk out before he can get the words out.  
  
Frankly, Uryuu won’t be surprised if he does.   
  
Ichigo jerks his head negatively. “No,” he says. “I’m done.” He takes a step, intending to leave.   
  
Renji gets in his way, hurt visible in his amber eyes. Uryuu’s simply trying to breathe, trying to remember when it all suddenly went sliding down hill. He hadn’t even known, hadn’t even thought to guess that Ichigo’s thoughts were sliding toward an end.   
  
A burst of reaitsu, a single glare, and Renji is all but pushed aside as Ichigo storms past him with a hint of black tainting his reaitsu. Shirosaki is not pleased either.   
  
Uryuu sighs, reaching up to rub fingers across his aching forehead. He watches as Renji turns, one hand lifting, most likely with intention to follow Ichigo. But Uryuu can already hear the sound of Ichigo’s storming footsteps. Twin clunks as Ichigo shoves his feet into boot, the jingle of keys, and then the subsequent slam of the door, bathing the apartment in utter silence save for the music still pulsing from the speakers.   
  
Ichigo’s gone. And Uryuu has the most awful feeling settling in his chest that he’s not coming back.   
  
* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two – Renji**

  
  
  
The sound of the slammed door echoes in Renji’s ear. All he manages to catch is the sight of Ichigo disappearing out the door. He hasn't even been able to get a word in edgewise. Not unsurprising considering that there is little that can get Ichigo’s attention when he’s not pleased.   
  
Not even the two of them – Renji and Uryuu – together.   
  
Sometimes, Renji’s still surprised that it works between them. Though if recent events have anything to say it’s that this little threesome of theirs _doesn’_ t work. Renji’s in Soul Society. Uryuu and Ichigo are here. Sometimes, it feels like the balance is off or nonexistent. Renji and Uryuu have managed to move on after Aizen’s War and Ichigo… hasn’t. He’s just here, lingering, wandering from place to place as though he’s searching for something he just can’t find.   
  
Who started it? When did things begin? Even some three years later, Renji still can’t figure it out. He thinks it had to have been Uryuu. For all his standoffish behavior, the Quincy is a master manipulator. He goes after what he wants without hesitation. Same for Ichigo. All Renji can remember is never saying no, never even thinking to say no. Not to either of them.   
  
Sometimes, he swears they all forget that. This isn’t just Ichigo and Uryuu with Renji occasionally stopping by when he can get the time off. Or just Ichigo and Renji unless the former happens to be in the Living World where Uryuu is always convenient. It’s the three of them, together, all at once.   
  
Why can’t they seem to remember this?   
  
Resisting the urge to scowl, Renji storms back into the kitchen already knowing who to blame. If Uryuu hadn’t started in with all that self-righteous bullshit, then Ichigo wouldn’t have gotten pissed off.   
  
“That went well,” the Quincy mutters as soon as Renji comes in sight. Uryuu’s standing over the oven as though Ichigo’s lasagna will cook any faster for the way he’s intently staring at it. Mouth downturned in a frown, a pinched look to his face that implies Uryuu thinks it’s all Renji’s fault rather than the other way around.   
  
Outrage builds in his chest, and Renji bites back a growl, swallowing the rising need to fight within him. Their arguing isn’t going to make things better; he doesn’t know why Uryuu can’t see it.   
  
“Why did you do that?” Renji demands, hands forming fists at his side before he can stop himself.   
  
“What? Remind Ichigo that he doesn’t have to go to Soul Society just because three of its captains are trying to persuade him?” Uryuu retorts without looking Renji’s direction, a prissy set to his shoulders accompanied by a prissy sniff that only goes to show how right the prissy bastard thinks he is.  
  
Renji twists his jaw. “Yeah, that fer starters,” he says, and pulls open the fridge, searching the contents if only to keep from blowing up violently. “I’m just tryin’ ta give him some options.”   
  
“The ones you’d prefer he picked,” Uryuu retorts, and turns away from the oven, arms crossed defensively over his chest. His glasses glint oddly in the sterile white light of the kitchen. “Excuse me if I prefer to think logically. What do you think Seireitei’s going to do when Ichigo’s outlived his usefulness?”   
  
Nothing appeals to him. Renji shuts the fridge door with perhaps a bit more force than is necessary. “That’s not going to happen.”   
  
“My ancestors thought that, too. You see what’s become of them,” Uryuu says bitterly, his eyes narrowing with old anger, old hurt.   
  
There’s nothing much Renji can do about that. He understands where Uryuu’s coming from but he still doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about.   
  
“That’s not the same thing,” Renji protests, and tries to approach Uryuu, but the Quincy is being pricklier than a cactus right now, body language all but screaming to keep distance between them. “Ichigo’s a hero. He defeated Aizen for kamisakes. We’re not just suddenly gonna turn around and try to kill him.”   
  
Uryuu sniffs, looking away, and Renji knows that most of his protest is borne from worry. If Renji wasn’t so certain that Seireitei would never try to hurt Ichigo, then he’d be concerned, too. He’d understand Uryuu’s reservations. But honestly, did the Quincy really think Ichigo belonged here? In the Living World where he’s not quite human, not quite Shinigami, not quite Hollow? Where he’s something else entirely?  
  
“Then maybe he doesn’t want to fill the Gotei’s empty spot,” Uryuu mutters.   
  
Renji rolls his eyes. “Ichigo doesn’t know what he wants,” he points out, which is utterly true. Ichigo doesn’t know so all Renji can do is show him the options.   
  
There’s no answer from the Quincy, who is so intently studying the box of garlic toast that he is trying his best to ignore Renji.   
  
Sometimes, Renji has to remind himself that despite their maturity and surviving Aizen’s War, he really is the oldest of the three of them. The most adult. This is one of those times. He bites back a sigh and wonders how he can salvage this. Uryuu is stubborn. Ichigo is stubborn. Renji himself is stubborn. None of them like to admit when they are wrong.   
  
But Renji will be damned if he just lets Ichigo end this and walk away. They’ve been through too much together.   
  
“That’s not the point,” Uryuu mutters, and if Renji doesn’t know better, he’d think that Uryuu is sulking. “It’s that you keep pushing him to your own end.”   
  
“And you’re just as guilty of that as I am,” Renji retorts, grinding his teeth, thinking that this is what Hitsugaya-taichou must feel like with Matsumoto sometimes. It’s like arguing with a brick wall. He’d get more rationality from a talking parakeet.   
  
Sometimes, Renji thinks his life would be a lot easier if he didn’t care so much for having Uryuu in it.   
  
He sighs and tries for another route, dragging a hand over his hair and neatly disrupting his bandanna in the process. “Why are you acting like I’m the enemy?” Renji says, wishing he sounded more angry and fierce, but resigned to appearing hurt. “This is not you and Ichigo and me and Ichigo. This is the three of us. Together. All three of us. Not fightin’ over Ichigo!”   
  
Uryuu’s eyes flash at him like blue fire, a lot like Rukia’s when she thinks he’s said something particularly stupid in fact. “I know that!”   
  
“I’m not sure ya do,” Renji retorts, and crosses the kitchen, gripping Uryuu’s shoulders before the Quincy can skitter out of the way and avoid him like he’s been doing all night. “I thought you and me had something, too, but it’s lookin’ like I’m the only one with something invested.”  
  
“You’re being melodramatic. No one said anything like that.”   
  
Renji grits his teeth, resists the urge to shake Uryuu until he manages to rattle some sense into that stubborn Quincy brain. “Ya want Ichigo ta stay here in the Living World with you so badly, but what about me, huh? Ya ever think about that?”   
  
Uryuu twitches, his glasses glinting in the light, mouth twisting with emotion that even after all these years, Renji hasn’t mastered interpreting. “And you two fools with swords can take a jaunt into Soul Society anytime you damn well please while I’m stuck here. What does that say about you, Abarai?”   
  
Oh hell no. Uryuu is not going to go there, putting that polite distance between them as though it hadn’t been discarded more than a year ago. It had taken months for Ichigo and Renji to break Uryuu out of that distancing habit and Renji will be damned if lets Uryuu slide back into it again. Ichigo’s gone, yeah, but they’ll get him back.   
  
Beneath Renji’s grip, Uryuu’s shoulders flex, as though he’s planning to try and separate them again, create some distance, escape. Renji doesn’t want that to happen. He wants Uryuu in his life as much as he wants Ichigo. For Renji, there’s no separating the two.   
  
Renji’s hands slide from Uryuu’s shoulders to his neck, cupping him gently, thumbs stroking under his chin while his fingers tease at Uryuu’s nape. When a verbal protest doesn’t immediately emerge, Renji considers the silence tacit permission and closes the distance between them, his mouth falling over Uryuu’s. An increase in height over the years has made this possible with less strain on Renji’s part, but both Uryuu and Ichigo are still shorter than he.  
  
Uryuu’s lips are soft, tasting vaguely minty, like the chapstick he uses with almost obsessive frequency in the winter. Renji’s tongue flicks against Uryuu’s lips, silently requesting that Uryuu open to him, stop playing games and just accept the truth. There’s a quiet exhalation before Uryuu’s lips part and their tongues touch, warm and wet, a puff of breath accompanying the gentle kiss.   
  
Hands fist in Renji’s shihakushou, pulling him closer until their bodies align and collide. Renji loves the feel of Uryuu pressed against him, all lithe lines and sharp angles beneath his picture-perfect clothing. The kiss deepens, with an odd sense of urgency, as though Uryuu is trying to convey all his regrets and fears through the touch of their lips alone. Renji returns the urgency because he knows, he _understands_.   
  
He won’t be an idiot and say that he can’t live without Ichigo or Uryuu. Because it’s possible. Shingami aside, he’ll continue to survive. His heart will keep pumping blood. His lungs will draw breath in and out. His limbs will move. He’ll still be a Shinigami, he’ll still have his friends. He won’t even be an empty shell.   
  
But something will definitely be missing, and Renji will notice that absence every second of his life. It’ll hurt, like a knife to the chest, and it’ll heal. But he can survive it; he can live through it.   
  
He just doesn’t want to.   
  
Renji knows Uryuu feels the same way. He doesn’t know what to call it. Love. Desire. A simple matter of need. He doesn’t think there’s a single word that can define the emotions that ripple among the three of them.   
  
The kiss ends and Renji runs his tongue over his lips, as though savoring the taste of Uryuu on them. The subtle pulse of reiatsu in the air is a mix of Shinigami and Quincy, very intriguing as it dances across Renji’s skin, and very familiar. It’s missing an important component; however, something that’ll balance them out.   
  
“We can’t keep arguin’ like that,” Renji says, his hands sliding down to Uryuu’s arms, rubbing them as though trying to keep the Quincy warm. “We’re going to lose him.”   
  
Uryuu sniffs haughtily. “If we do, it’s your fault.”   
  
“It’ll be both our fault,” Renji corrects, feeling his left eyebrow twitch. Why does Uryuu have to be so damn stubborn? “We’re both pushin’ him when he doesn’t want to be pushed.”   
  
“He needs to be pushed,” Uryuu mutters, and pushes his glasses up with one finger. The fight has gone out of his voice though.   
  
“Yeah. And prodded in th’ back with a hot rod, too,” Renji agrees, unable to fight the grin that curls his lips.   
  
Uryuu’s mouth quirks into a smile – one that’s even more harming for its rarity – before he slides into the more familiar frown. “He said he was done.”   
  
“He’s said that before.”   
  
“This time, he meant it.”   
  
Renji rolls his eyes. “You don’t know that.”   
  
“I’ve a pretty good guess,” Uryuu retorts, but it lacks heat. There’s nothing but worry in his tone. He won’t admit to the thought of Ichigo leaving them as something painful, but Renji knows Uryuu feels it all the same. The echoes of it reverberate through Renji as well.  
  
He leans over, closes his lips over Uryuu’s again, a kiss more fierce and demanding than before. He loves the way Uryuu tastes, loves the flick of Uryuu’s tongue against his, the feel of agile fingers spider-walking over his body. Touches more teasing than demanding, so different from Ichigo's, but equally arousing.   
  
“We’re going to get him back,” Renji says, ending the kiss as his fingers curl around Uryuu’s arm, holding the Quincy close to him.   
  
Uryuu nods, eyes flashing, bright and determined. “Of course we are.”   
  
Grinning, Renji resists the urge to show off how smug he feels. “Great. So how are we going ta do it?”   
  
“What? You don’t know?” Uryuu arches a brow at him, giving an amusing impression of superiority.   
  
“Hell, I’m not the one with the plans, I just fight.”   
  
A fact which makes Uryuu sigh, and is something he knows all too well. Neither Ichigo nor Renji ever bother with making a plan ahead of time. It’s easier to just barge in, zanpakutou swinging, and clear a path through the enemy.   
  
“You and Ichigo could both benefit from a bit of planning.” Uryuu frowns, brow wrinkling in thought. “Ichigo will have to come here eventually. All we have to do is wait.”   
  
Renji scowls. “I don’t like to wait. Let’s just corner him at Urahara’s.”   
  
“If he’s even there,” Uryuu says, and one hand settles on Renji’s hip, squeezing purposefully. He isn’t looking at Renji, but there’s a mischievous set to his eyes that Renji knows very well. “But he’ll eventually have to come back here.”   
  
“So we’ll just corner him here.”   
  
“No.”   
  
Renji furrows his brow. Despite being with Uryuu for years, sometimes, he just doesn’t understand the prissy bastard at all. “Why not?” he asks, growing a tad annoyed.  
  
Uryuu works his way free from Renji’s arms, moving to check on the lasagna that’s bubbling in its pan. “Ichigo will expect that.”   
  
“And you want to…surprise him?” Renji asks, inhaling the strong scent of tomatoes and garlic that’s beginning to fill the air. His mouth waters at the thought of the pasta dish. It’s a treat for Renji to eat Ichigo’s cooking, which is surprisingly good. He supposes Yuzu’s been teaching him.   
  
“Something like that,” Uryuu says and closes the oven with a thunk, adjusting his glasses with the tip of his pointer finger. “I’m not going to let him run away like that. He’s ours, whether he realizes it or not.”   
  
Renji’s mouth curls into a knowing smirk. “Oh, so now yer claiming me, huh? How did I make it onto the great Quincy’s list?”   
  
Uryuu rolls his eyes and grabs Renji’s arm, dragging him closer. “You idiot,” he mutters, all haughty pride as usual. “You’ve always been there.”   
  
The kiss that follows is all the sweeter for the grin that curls Renji’s lips. He lets the sensation of Uryuu wound around him chase away the worry about Ichigo. They’ll get him back; he’s sure of it. Ichigo might be stubborn, but Uryuu and Renji together are a force to be reckoned with.   
  
They’ll make sure Ichigo understands.   


* * *


	3. Chapter 3

\----------------------------------  
Part Three – Ichigo  
\-----------------------------------

  
  
When Ichigo slips back into his shared apartment with Uryuu, it’s past nine in the morning. Uryuu, he knows, is at class and Renji safely back in Seireitei. There’s no chance of running into either. Which is for the best, since Ichigo plans to pack what few belongings are of any importance to him and beat a hasty exit. He’s simply not ready to face another round of convincing and reminders.  
  
They’ll ask him to stay; Ichigo knows he won’t be able to say no despite needing to. It’s better, safer, wiser. He knows what he’s doing. It’s for the best.  
  
He tells himself this over and over as he creeps through an apartment that still feels like home, but manages to sound foreign and alone all the same. This apartment is as much his as it is Uryuu’s – as much as it is Renji’s home away from Seireitei. Only not so much anymore. Ichigo’s not going to be returning.  
  
It’s a bit cowardly, to slip in when no one’s home and erase himself from their future, but it’s the only thing Ichigo can think to do. For once, rushing in headfirst and hoping he’ll figure out what to do isn’t the best course of action.  
  
And if there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to leave, Ichigo squashes it down mercilessly. They can’t make each other happy. All they do is fight, and Ichigo knows that he’s the cause of it. Because he’s too busy wandering from Living World to Seireitei, undecided. Ichigo doesn’t know if he’ll ever decide.  
  
He can’t sleep at night in Seireitei without thinking of all the lost souls in Karakura, all the Hollow threats that could emerge. Or his family and friends, still living, who might miss him. Or worse, a war he can’t forget and would rather never have to face again.  
  
He can’t rest easy in Uryuu’s bed, or even his own, in Karakura because he knows how hard it is in Seireitei right now. How the Shinigami are still teetering on the edge of destruction after Aizen’s betrayal and subsequent war. How much they need him.  
  
Ichigo’s so damn tired of fighting. But it’s all he knows; it’s all he can do. He can’t stand aside if there’s something to be done and he can’t just ignore the part of him that’s Shinigami. Or the part that’s Hollow. Or the part that’s something else entirely.  
  
Grimacing, in the midst of shoving clothing and random bits and pieces of his life intertwined with Uryuu’s into a bag, Ichigo pauses to rub at his sternum. Sometimes, it aches. Times like this, it aches. Ichigo doesn’t regret this particular choice; it was necessary. But it can be a bit annoying at times.  
  
Ichigo sighs and stuffs a few framed photographs into his duffel. Uryuu has extra copies of them and he doubts that the Quincy will be upset that Ichigo took them. It would be wiser for Ichigo to leave them behind as the reminder will only hurt, but he can’t bring himself to do it. They are the last thing to be packed, and Ichigo slides the zipper shut, throwing the strap over his shoulder.  
  
The duffel is surprisingly light. He never quite fully moved into this room, did he? No. Ichigo’s stuff is spread all across the two worlds. Some stuff has taken up residence in Renji’s quarters in Seireitei. The majority of it remains in his bedroom at Kurosaki household. Urahara-san is holding some important pieces. And the rest has always been here. But not anymore.  
  
The apartment remains quiet as Ichigo adjusts the duffel and heads for the door, one last thought occurring to him. He pauses in the hallway and pulls out his keyring, jangling noisily. He works at the metal ring, forcing the key to this apartment off. There’s a dull clink as the silver metal hits the countertop in the kitchen, gleaming oddly in the morning light streaming through the kitchen window.  
  
He never even got to taste his lasagna. Ichigo doesn’t know why such a random, arbitrary thought strikes him as important. It just does.  
  
His exit from the apartment is uneventful, the door clicking shut behind him with another, quieter snick to let him know the lock has moved into place. A part of him is disappointed that Renji and Uryuu hadn’t been there to try. Other parts are grateful he had been spared the drama.  
  
Ichigo’s chest aches again; he absentmindedly rubs at it. Nothing to be done for it now. He’s made his choice. This is the way things have to be.  
  
Ichigo heads home, which he clarifies to be the Kurosaki house in Karakura, with its adjoining clinic. His sisters will be glad to see him, and even old Goat-Face will probably greet him with a flying kick or two. None of his family would be home at this time of day, but Ichigo knows they won’t mind his return.  
  
It’s just a band-aid really. Something to put over the wound until Ichigo figures out where he’s going to go from here. But Urahara-san will ask too many questions and there’s no way Ichigo’s going to hole up in Seireitei either. He supposes if he is absolutely desperate, he can hunt down Chad and bunk with him, but he won’t bother Chad right now. This is something Ichigo needs to take care of himself.  
  
Ichigo can’t remember the last time he stayed in his childhood bedroom. He’s been bouncing more between Urahara-san’s and Uryuu’s apartment lately…  
  
Funny how quick that went from “their” apartment to “Uryuu’s” apartment. Strange how his mind works. Ichigo hates that the thought echoes so hollowly inside of him.  
  
His bedroom will be dusty; the sheets will need to be changed, unless Yuzu’s been doing it in his absence. He’ll have to open a window, air out the room, stare blankly into an unoccupied closet that’ll never be occupied again.  
  
Ichigo fights away creeping memories and digs his house key out of his pocket, letting himself into a silent home. Yuzu and Karin would be at school, the old man in the clinic. He’ll have a few hours to himself before the noise starts in. Yuzu complaining he’s too thin. Karin teasing him about never growing out of his angsty, teenage stage. Goat-Face meeting him with a flying attack he calls a hug.  
  
Trudging up stairs that creak in all the familiar faces, Ichigo is struck with a surge of nostalgia. Not only for his family, but for Uryuu and Renji as well. He can’t remember who started it, but he remembers where. Here, of course, after Aizen’s war, when they were all struggling to pull themselves together after counting their losses – too many, too much, just not good enough.  
  
He pushes open the door to his bedroom, letting his shoulder sag so that the strap can slide off it. The duffel hits the floor with a dull thump as Ichigo reaches over and slaps the light on with his free hand. The ceiling fan starts spinning lazily; it really does smell dusty and unused in here.  
  
“You’re a coward.”  
  
Ichigo stiffens and turns at the familiar voice, finding Uryuu sitting on his bed, looking perfectly composed, his face unreadable.  
  
Ichigo works his jaw. “How so?” he asks, even though he knows the reason why. He won’t even ask what Uryuu is doing here. Ichigo can guess pretty easily.  
  
He steps further into the room, nudging the duffel aside with his foot so that it’s out of the doorway, making it easier to close his door if necessary.  
  
Uryuu looks at him, the gleam of his glasses making it difficult to read his eyes. “For all that you rush into battle, you’re always the first to run when it comes to us.”  
  
“By us, do you mean myself and you, or are you including Renji in that?”  
  
A hand lifts, pressing to the nosepiece on his glasses, adjusting them. “I deserved that,” Uryuu admits, a first in Ichigo’s estimation. “However, I was referring to both Renji and myself.” He looks up at Ichigo, jaw set with familiar stubbornness. “Your first reaction is always to run.”  
  
“That should tell you something, shouldn’t it?” Ichigo says, and folds his arms over his chest. He stands in the middle of his room, watching Uryuu who remains seated, a part of him hating that it’s come to this.  
  
He already feels himself wavering and Uryuu’s hardly said anything.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
The voice comes from behind him. Ichigo doesn’t have to turn and look to know that Renji is the one in the doorway. A sneak attack then. They have planned for this. Renji blocking the only exit, Uryuu sitting in front of him, both knowing full well Ichigo isn’t going to throw himself out the window or fight his way to freedom. This had to have been Uryuu’s idea.  
  
Ichigo’s eyebrow twitches, a mixture of annoyance and resignation. “That for as often as we fight, it’s obviously not working.”  
  
Renji snorts, and there’s the sound of a heavy footstep as he moves further into the room and becomes less a shadow in the doorway. “That’s just yer excuse.”  
  
“Really? I didn’t know I needed one,” Ichigo says and half-turns, one eye on Uryuu, the other on Renji, unable to escape the feeling that he’s trapped between the two of them.  
  
“People fight. It’s common knowledge, Kurosaki,” Uryuu says, and the old mattress creaks beneath him as he shifts on the bed. “And people tend to kiss and make up.”  
  
Ichigo sighs, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of fighting,” he says, even though the word maybe isn’t part of the equation, the word definitely is.  
  
“Then no more fightin’,” Renji says, as though it’s that simple. “Me ‘n Uryuu… we’ve agreed. No more fighting. There’s no reason to disagree.”  
  
Ichigo snorts. “You’ve said that before. I’m supposed to believe that it makes a difference now?” He shakes his head, exasperation mixing with hurt and churning with anger, all becoming a heavy knot in his belly. “Tell me another one.”  
  
Uryuu frowns, eyebrow twitching. “You’re being purposefully difficult, aren’t you?” he says, hands sliding over his thighs, smoothing down the fabric of his carefully pressed slacks.  
  
“Am I?” Ichigo demands, a touch aggressive, feeling his reaitsu rise and surround him like a thin cloak of power. “I told you I was done. You’re the ones that showed up here as though I wanted you to.”  
  
“’Cause ya did,” Renji’s soft baritone echoes behind him, full of belief and determination, as if he’s so sure he’s right, there’s no way he could be wrong. “Otherwise ya would’ve kicked my ass out of your way and left the both of us hanging here.”  
  
Ichigo’s still sorely tempted to do just that, only the urge is fading rapidly. “It’s not going to work,” he says sharply, eyes darting between the two men. “I can’t be some kind of… of glue or tape or whatever it is that you two think holds us together. I’m not going to.”  
  
“You won’t have to,” Uryuu says slowly, not quite pleading. Uryuu will never bring himself to beg or plead; it’s not in his nature. He’ll just say something as though that’s the way it is and everyone else should listen to him because Uryuu knows best.  
  
Renji won’t beg either. He’ll demand or he’ll cajole. He’ll distract Ichigo with fiery kisses and chase away tension with an ill-timed joke. But he won’t beg.  
  
The three of them, they all have their pride. They wear it like a mantle. Can’t even tear it down for one another. Too stubborn, too full of themselves. And they really think it’ll work out?  
  
“You say that now but later you’ll want me to choose,” Ichigo snarls, hand whipping through the air in a vague gesture. “I can’t – no, I won’t. I’d rather be alone than choose.”  
  
Uryuu’s on his feet now, but he doesn’t look or sound angry. Instead, his voice is soft, as though he’s suddenly come to an understanding. “No one’s saying that.”  
  
Ichigo freezes, turning slowly toward Uryuu, feeling as though his bones and muscles creak with the motion. He stares. “ _We need you, Ichigo. Soul Society needs you_ ,” Ichigo mocks, his lips twisting into a nasty sneer. “ _They’re only going to betray you. Go back to school. This is your home here_.”  
  
It doesn’t take a genius to know Ichigo’s quoting both of them, at one time or another. He may have the words wrong verbatim, but the implication is the same. Their arguments can easily be summed up as such.  
  
“We only said those things as advice,” Renji protests, sounding guilty.  
  
Ichigo snorts. “Advice that’ll benefit one of you over the other,” he hisses, and runs a hand raggedly through his hair. Too many arguments and discussions running through his head. Advice, they say, advice that tugs him in one direction over another, and only succeeds in confusing him.  
  
“I can’t do this,” Ichigo adds, fingers scraping at his scalp, free hand forming a fist. “I can’t be everywhere. I’m just one person.”  
  
 _I can’t split myself between you. I can’t be the bridge in a set of pairings. It’s supposed to go all the way around, like a circle, a loop, not a triangle that doesn’t connect at the base._  
  
I want you both, not one over the other.  
  
I’m not stupid enough to call it love. I won’t be trite and say I can’t live without either of you because I was planning to try. I don’t know what this is; I don’t know why it’s something I want so badly. I just know that it hurts when I’m alone and all that I have to ease the pain is your kisses and your touch and the sound of both of your voices when you whisper in my ear.  
  
He’s breathing heavily, and he knows he’s acting just a bit crazy, but the past collides with the present, coloring his future in expectations. He wants to scream, to shout until his lungs give out. There are too many expectations weighing him down, past and present. He’s never strong enough, never fast enough to be everywhere, can’t even save one person, can’t even make his own lovers happy…  
  
Warmth suddenly encloses Ichigo from behind, stopping his awkward pacing, arms wrapping around a body that won’t stop trembling for reasons he can’t fathom. The arms are thin, but wiry with muscle, an archer’s arms. And then Renji is in front of him, his palms cupping Ichigo’s face as he pulls Ichigo in for a kiss. A brief brush of their lips before the kiss deepens.  
  
And Ichigo, for the life of him, can’t find a reason to fight his way free.  
  
“You idiot,” Renji says, his words harsh but his tone soft, almost unbelieving, spoken between kisses. “Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
Uryuu’s hands are stroking Ichigo’s chest and abdomen, a motion more comforting than sexual, his back warm against Ichigo’s. “I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”  
  
There’s a thickness in the back of Ichigo’s throat that he refuses to acknowledge. “There was nothing to tell,” he lies, and is surprised when neither of them calls him on it.  
  
How was he supposed to tell them? Something Ichigo can’t put into words? The past is the past, and Ichigo can’t forget it. He doesn’t think anyone can forget Aizen’s war. Ichigo’s not the only one with nightmares. He’d be arrogant to think he’s the only one struggling.  
  
“We don’t care, ya know,” Renji adds, drawing back to look Ichigo in the eye, the strange amber shade darker with a show of emotion. “We just want ya to be with us. It doesn’t matter where ya decide to go.”  
  
Uryuu is oddly silent, for once, as though he’s allowing Renji to be the mouth for the both of them. Another oddity.  
  
“I’m always going to be straddling both worlds,” Ichigo says, surprising himself with the hoarseness of his voice. It feels like he’s been screaming for hours. “I can’t just choose.”  
  
“No one says you have to,” Renji replies and kisses him again, as though it’s enough, this kiss. As though it makes everything okay.  
  
It doesn’t, but it feels nice, feels right, and Ichigo lets himself fall into it anyway. Renji, for all his aggressive behavior, is a surprisingly delicate kisser. He knows the perfect methods to slowly coax Ichigo’s mouth open, his tongue sliding inside and tangling with Ichigo’s, warm and wet.  
  
“You always have to make things so difficult,” Uryuu adds, his voice a warm whisper against the back of Ichigo’s neck, tickling the shorter hairs there. The sound of it, low and warm, makes Ichigo shiver. “We want you.”  
  
We… the sound of it echoes in Ichigo’s ear. He likes the sound of it. We, not just I, but we. Renji and Uryuu together, making an effort. It’s nothing new; it’s a tactic they’ve used time and time again before. Ichigo’s weak in the face of it now as he’s always been. It feels different now, but then it’s always before.  
  
Ichigo’s not stupid. He finds himself wavering nonetheless. The prospect of cold sheets and flooding nightmares and missing warm welcome afternoon kisses isn’t appealing to him. He’ll even miss the nagging and the fighting and the way Uryuu and Renji bicker over his head as though he’s not there sometimes.  
  
Who’s he trying to fake?  
  
Ichigo can’t speak; Renji’s tongue is too busy plunging into his mouth, making him senseless. Not that it matters. Ichigo’s never been good with words anyway. He’s always preferred to let his actions speak for themselves.  
  
His hand rises, seemingly of its own accord, and one tangles in Renji’s hair. His fingers pluck out the tight tie, letting waves of crimson fall over Renji’s shoulders before Ichigo buries his fingers in that thick mane. His grip keeps Renji from moving away as Ichigo deepens the kiss, sucking on Renji’s tongue, loving the low growling noises emerging from the Shinigami’s throat.  
  
Ichigo’s other hand drops to cover one of Uryuu’s, not wanting the Quincy to think he’d been forgotten. Ichigo grips and squeezes, moves Uryuu’s hand further down until it covers Ichigo’s groin where he’s already half-hard. How can he not be when surrounded and enclosed by Uryuu and Renji?  
  
Ichigo’s hips shift, pressing backward against Uryuu’s and feeling an answering hardness in Uryuu’s slacks. And then he rocks forward, a growing arousal resting against his hipbone despite the layers of Renji’s hakama.  
  
Sex is hardly the cure for their relationship. But it’s a start. It’s a band aid. It’s what Ichigo wants, what he needs, what they all need, he thinks.  
  
So he doesn’t think. He just closes his eyes and allows himself this weakness, surrendering to sensation and warmth and a feeling of closeness that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to duplicate with anyone else ever again.  


* * *


	4. Chapter 4

\------------------------  
Final Part -- Trinity  
\--------------------------

  
  
Ichigo’s not sure how or when they made it to the bed. He doesn’t remember when his clothes came off or when all three of them became naked. It’s a blur of images and sensations to him. Hands sliding over his flesh, calloused and smooth, the smell of the both of them. Uryuu like freshly sharpened pencils and the crisp bite of a thunderstorm. Renji like a smoking hearth and something sweet, probably those candies he’s always chewing on that he no doubt pilfers from Urahara-san’s shop.  
  
They’re on his bed now, something really too narrow for three bodies, especially considering Renji’s size, but somehow, they fit. Ichigo’s pressed between them, Uryuu in front, kissing him senseless.  
  
Talented Quincy hands roam over Ichigo’s body, making goosebumps rise over his skin. Uryuu’s hands are smooth, unsurprising considering the care Uryuu takes with them, and they are nimble. Plucking over a nipple here, tracing delicately over Ichigo’s sensitive sides, dragging over the collarbone. Teasing touches that only serve to ramp Ichigo’s desires up higher.  
  
Uryuu’s glasses have been set off to the side, out of harm’s way, and without them, he looks softer, younger. Ichigo would never say so aloud, but he’s always found the effect striking. Uryuu looks much less like his father and more like Uryuu without his glasses, if that even makes sense.  
  
His kisses are hot and sharp, nipping across Ichigo’s lips and peppering bites along Ichigo’s stubbly jaw and chin. He tongues Ichigo’s Adam’s apple – a favorite spot of Uryuu’s to attack – before claiming Ichigo’s lips again. His skin all but glows in the early morning light. Of them all, Uryuu is the palest.  
  
Renji is behind Ichigo, pressed against his back, skin hot like fire. His rigid length is pressed against the crest of Ichigo’s buttocks, leaking profusely, and Renji rolls his hips in a rhythm that Ichigo finds himself replicating, his own hips pushing forward into empty air. One arm is hooked around Ichigo’s abdomen, holding him in place, keeping him locked on his knees and pressed against Ichigo.  
  
A hot mouth, teeth and tongue, have latched onto Ichigo’s shoulder, biting with just enough pressure to make him hot and hungry. Not enough to draw blood, but enough that Ichigo feels it, enough that he moans every time he feels Renji’s teeth and those sexy canines.  
  
Another arm settles possessively on Ichigo’s hip, guiding the motion of their bodies, the way they rock back and forth on the bed. Renji’s mumbling something, the deep baritone of his voice like aural sex to Ichigo.  
  
Ichigo still has one hand buried in crimson hair, a compulsion he can’t seem to fight. He loves the feel of Renji’s surprisingly soft hair sliding through his fingers, as much as he loves to bury his hand in Uryuu’s silky black hair. He’s lost the capability for speech, nothing more than low sounds of encouragement falling from his lips. Moans and groans and other noises that would be embarrassing in any other situation, but only serve to amplify the tension in the room, pushing their mutual sense of need and arousal through the roof.  
  
“Uryuu…” Renji’s voice is thick with need, gravelly, hungry.  
  
“Of course,” Uryuu answers as though there’s some silent communication between them, a silent connection that has somehow built itself in Ichigo’s half-day absence.  
  
They planned this. The distant thought flickers through Ichigo’s head, and is gone the moment Uryuu’s lips and hands vanish from him. A brief chill attacks Ichigo’s front, but it’s chased away when Renji reaches up and forces Ichigo’s head to turn toward him, causing their lips to meet. This time around, the kiss is aggressive, more claiming than gentle persuasion.  
  
Ichigo shudders, his cock harder than rock, seeping fluid at the tip. It’s the only place they haven’t touched him yet and he feels the need coiling in his gut like a spring winding tighter and tighter. He lowers his hand, thinking to take care of himself, but Uryuu returns and smacks his arm away as though he’s a child daring to steal a cookie from the cookie jar.  
  
There’s a snap, like the sound of a bottle opening, and Ichigo peels his eyes open as he pulls away from Renji’s lips, watching as Uryuu pours a clear liquid into his palm. Uryuu smirks as Renji’s knee slides between Ichigo’s, forcing his legs apart. Ichigo doesn’t have it in him to protest, not when Uryuu approaches with that look in his eyes. One that bathes Ichigo in a wash of need and heat.  
  
Uryuu’s blue eyes glitter in the morning light as he leans over, running his tongue over the peaked nub of Ichigo’s nipple before drawing it into his mouth. Teeth delicately applying pressure that’s absolutely perfect, just enough to drive him to the edge. Ichigo’s hips have a mind of their own, shoving forward into empty air, as Uryuu’s lube coated fingers trail slickly down Ichigo’s abdomen. They follow a thin line of hair downward, brushing briefly over Ichigo’s neglected arousal before continuing ever southward.  
  
A sound, not unlike a whine, echoes in Ichigo’s throat.  
  
Uryuu chuckles, like the bastard he is, and Renji echoes the sentiment. The both of them are bastards, teasing him like this.  
  
Slick fingers tickle at Ichigo’s scrotum before gliding lower, two of them pressing to Ichigo’s puckered muscle. They tease the wrinkled flesh before pushing inside, making Ichigo gasp, clench, draw in a stuttered breath. It’s not pain, but need that makes him react so strongly.  
  
“Goddamn, you’re hot like this,” Renji mutters in his ear, half-curse, half-exclamation of awe.  
  
Renji’s growled comment makes Uryuu hum in agreement, looking past Ichigo almost as if he’s not there. “You’ll share, of course,” he says, tongue tracing a nonsense path across Ichigo’s chest, from one nipple to the other.  
  
His fingers push deeper inside Ichigo, crooking just so, making Ichigo’s entire body break out in a sweat. He twitches, still trapped by Renji’s arm, and his other hand buries itself in Uryuu’s hair, trying to coax the Quincy’s mouth to head southward. Uryuu, however, is as stubborn as always and refuses to relent. His fingers twist and push, brushing occasionally against Ichigo’s prostate, making his hips dance under Uryuu’s ministrations.  
  
“What’s mine is yours,” Renji says, and Ichigo can practically hear the rakish smile in Renji’s voice, knows that it’s curling Renji’s lips.  
  
Ichigo sucks in a breath, hips twisting between the two. “Will you two stop your damned flirting and get to business already!” he demands and tells himself he’s not whining, not one bit.  
  
“Someone sounds a little desperate,” Renji teases, still in that throaty, deep voice that makes Ichigo quiver with anticipation, and he thrusts against the small of Ichigo’s back, mimicking his future actions.  
  
“I rather like you like this, Ichigo,” Uryuu adds, fingers maddening as they slip and twist, a smirk curling his lips. “Desperate and stripped of your defenses. Something for our eyes alone.” Heat banks in Uryuu’s blue eyes and Ichigo’s own gaze follows the way Uryuu drags his tongue over his lips.  
  
Something that Ichigo refuses to name a plead echoes in the back of his throat, wordless.  
  
“So it’s… about power,” Ichigo gasps as Uryuu’s fingers withdraw and the Quincy straightens, pressing their body flush together, his lips mere inches away. “About claiming what no one else has.”  
  
“Something like that,” Renji mutters, his tongue flicking across the impression of teeth left in Ichigo’s shoulder as his hands move to Ichigo’s hips, large hands gripping forcefully.  
  
Ichigo has an unholy obsession with Renji’s hands. He won’t mention it aloud, but the truth is there, brewing inside of him. They are dangerously skilled.  
  
Renji groans and Ichigo belatedly realizes that Uryuu has reached around him, wrapping long and elegant fingers around Renji’s neglected arousal. Ichigo can feel the motion as the back of Uryuu’s hand occasionally brushes against Ichigo’s ass, tantalizing touches. And he watches, breathless as Uryuu leans past Ichigo, finding Renji’s mouth and claiming it for his own. They kiss, open-mouthed and tongues tangling as Ichigo stares, desire like a knife through the gut, heat lancing his body.  
  
There’s a flush of need in Uryuu’s cheeks, heat against his usually cool demeanor, and Ichigo can’t resist dragging his hands over the planes of Uryuu’s body. Skin sweat-slick and smooth beneath his fingers, barely scarred.  
  
And then Renji growls, a sound of need, and breaks off the kiss with Uryuu. His fingers clamp down on Ichigo’s hip, jerking Ichigo backward as Renji sinks down, his cock slipping from teasing at the crest of Ichigo’s buttocks to sliding down the cleft. There’s all of a moment where the head of Renji’s arousal rests at Ichigo’s entrance, teasing once again, before Renji pushes inside of him with a quickly drawn breath.  
  
Ichigo gasps, caught on the cusp, and drags Uryuu in for a kiss, letting the Quincy swallow all those embarrassing noises. Renji makes a sound, cross between a gasp and a groan, as he slides home as naturally as though he belongs there. There’s discomfort, at first, but it bleeds into pleasant sensation. Renji doesn’t move at first, just pauses, nestled inside of Ichigo, and Ichigo can feel the heat of that amber stare as he watches Uryuu and Ichigo kiss noisily, lips and tongues smacking.  
  
Ichigo drags Uryuu closer, until their bodies are flush, their groins pressed together. Uryuu’s cock grinds against his, a deliberate, needy rhythm that forces Ichigo’s own arousal higher and higher. The mattress creaks with pointed noise and Ichigo’s all kinds of relieved that his family is nowhere within hearing distance.  
  
And then thoughts of embarrassing situations fade into the background as Renji begins to move, drawing his hips back slowly, pushing forward with an equally unhurried pace. Determined to drag out the sensation and drive Ichigo absolutely mad. His fingers flex on Ichigo’s hips, the Vizard’s breathing sharp and staggered, but Renji’s as stubborn as he is resolute, and he keeps that deliberate, slow pace.  
  
Renji’s breathing right into Ichigo’s ear, hot and heavy, his tongue occasionally slipping out to coil around that ear. He’s murmuring nonsense words, mixed with filthy phrases that would sound stupid coming from anyone else. But when paired with Renji’s rough, sexy voice, they sound all the more erotic. Ichigo’s not the only one affected; Uryuu loves the sound of Renji’s “sex” voice just as much.  
  
There’s a blur of sensation. Uryuu’s lips meshing with his, soft hands tracking down Ichigo’s sides, tracing nonsense patters. Renji’s cock working within him, making the heat in his belly twist and coil like a snake ready to strike. The heat of being pressed between their bodies, the sensation of reaitsu rising in the room, twisting together in various strands of power: Shinigami, Quincy, Vizard… or whatever the hell Ichigo wants to call himself. Sometimes, not even he is sure.  
  
Renji’s whispering something in Ichigo’s ear, something about wanting to see his face. Ichigo gasps out some kind of agreement, mind lost somewhere between the feel of Uryuu’s cock pressed against his and Renji’s cock moving inside of him.  
  
Ichigo is dragged from a happy place of sensation when Renji suddenly withdraws, pulling back, creating an absence of warmth behind Ichigo. He breaks away from the kiss with Uryuu to protest, but the Quincy is gone as well and the hands on his hips squeeze before tossing Ichigo around as though he weighs little more than a rag doll. Damn annoyingly large Shinigami and their damned brute strength.  
  
His lower back hits the mattress, but he finds the rest of him cradled between two bodies. Renji in front now, Uryuu behind, his leaking arousal pressing against Ichigo’s back, sliding slickly across a sweat-soaked spine.  
  
Renji’s hands fall on Ichigo’s knees, pushing them apart as he kneels between Ichigo’s legs, amber eyes dark with desire, crimson hair falling over his shoulders. He hooks Ichigo’s legs under the knee, pushes them back, forces Ichigo against Uryuu behind him, who doesn’t seem to mind as he takes the brunt of Ichigo’s weight.  
  
He’s trapped between them. Funny how Ichigo doesn’t seem to mind. How he just licks his lips, lets himself drown in the desire in Renji’s eyes, and gets a handful of red hair. Pulls Renji closer for a deep kiss that stretches the limits of his flexibility. Ichigo arches his body, pushing back against Uryuu, thrusting up against Renji, urging him to get with the program. Ichigo’s so hard he hurts, and judging from Uryuu’s quick breathing, the Quincy is in no better state. Renji’s stubbornly holding onto his own stamina but why bother? There’ll be more times. Lots and lots of them.  
  
Renji looks past Ichigo, catching eyes with Uryuu. And once again, Ichigo gets the sense that they are communicating silently, making plans without him. Renji smirks, making the need knotting in Ichigo’s belly spurt precome all over his own belly.  
  
They move, in tandem but opposite patterns. Renji pushes into him and when he pulls back, Uryuu rolls his hips forward, until there’s not a moment when Ichigo doesn’t feel either of them pressed against him. His hips twist and churn between them, and Ichigo can only identify the hands roaming over his body by feel alone. Uryuu’s smoother, slim fingers pinching at his nipples as his other hand loosely fists Ichigo’s desperate arousal. One of Renij’s hands braces against the bed, the other firmly clamped around Ichigo’s knee, keeping him open, easy for plundering.  
  
He’s trapped between them, a twisting, moaning, desperate frenzy of movement and Ichigo can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.  
  
Ichigo’s already on edge; they’ve both done a good job of teasing him. His skin’s on fire, covered in sweat, and he all but shouts when Uryuu tightens his grip, starts stroking him with real intent. Ichigo twists and writhes between them, one hand clamped onto Uryuu’s arm and the other tangled in Renji’s hair – longer than it used to be, easier to reach, to pull.  
  
Uryuu’s tongue strokes over his throat, neck, collarbone, tracing the marks left behind by Renji’s teeth and there’s something supremely erotic about that little act. Ichigo feels he’s been claimed twice over, possessed and owned without a chance for doubt.  
  
Sensation blurs, one into the next, and when Ichigo surrenders, his release washes over him in steadying waves. He spills over Uryuu’s hands, releases an embarrassing chorus of noises, and clenches down on Renji, causing the Shinigami to moan of his own accord. Pleasure sparks sharp and heavy, throbbing through his entire body. He’s certain he’s left a bruise on Uryuu’s arm from the force of his grip.  
  
Renji’s pace has increased, faster, more desperate. Ichigo’s so sensitive in the aftermath of his own release that the feel of Renji inside him is almost too much, but he says nothing, too taken with the look on Renji’s face. Need mixed with other, deeper feelings, his breathing in short, rapid bursts. Sweat making loose strands of hair cling sticky his face and neck, tattoos a dark gleam in the morning light.  
  
Uryuu’s no better, a constant thrust against Ichigo’s back, his arousal smearing precome all over Ichigo’s skin, his arms coming up around Ichigo from behind in a tight embrace. He’s pressed his cheek against the side of Ichigo’s head, dark hair tickling at Ichigo’s neck and shoulder, more panting than breathing. His fingers are splayed against Ichigo’s abdomen and chest, palms hot and sticky with sweat.  
  
Renji’s the first to break, a mix of curses and other noises spilling from his lips as he slams into Ichigo, his grip tight and unrelenting. Arousal has flushed his skin an intoxicating shade of pink that clashes with his hair and Ichigo watches as Renji chews on his bottom lip, body twitching as he spills himself inside of Ichigo.  
  
Behind him, Uryuu’s breathing is sharp, dancing on the edge. His hands gripping as his hips move, pressing again and again into Ichigo’s back. Ichigo squirms, tries to twist in Uryuu’s arms and Renji’s hold, wanting to add fingers and lips and tongue, anything to help Uryuu along, but he’s trapped between them and neither seems willing to yield.  
  
Not that it seems to matter. Uryuu thrusts sharply against him, and then Ichigo feels heat blossom against his back as Uryuu shudders with his release. Renji is watching them both with half-lidded eyes, one hand stroking along Ichigo’s leg which has finally been released from Renji’s tight grip.  
  
Uryuu’s lips are on Ichigo’s collarbone and shoulder, peppering it with kisses, and Renji’s lazily sucking Uryuu’s soiled fingers into his mouth, threatening to ignite lust in Ichigo all over again. As though they have all morning to do nothing more than lie in Ichigo’s too-small bed and make a bigger mess of things.  
  
Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad.  
  
The frenzy of the moment fades into slow caresses and gentle kisses and the slide of skin over skin. Renji slides out of Ichigo as Uryuu leans back, keeping Ichigo pressed to his cheek. Renji seems quite content to kiss Ichigo soundly before wrapping an arm loosely around Ichigo’s waist, hand landing on Uryuu’s thigh possessively. Renji’s head makes a pillow out of Ichigo’s sticky belly and amazingly, Ichigo doesn’t complain.  
  
The three of them are a sweaty, sticky mess on Ichigo’s incredibly tiny bed, but he can’t seem to muster up the energy to coax either of them into the equally small shower. He’s focusing intently on the sound of Uryuu’s heartbeat in his left ear, and the feel of Renji’s steadying breathing against the damp flesh of his abdomen. It’s too hot, squished between them, but Ichigo fights the urge to squirm free.  
  
“It’s goin’ ta work,” Renji murmurs sleepily, free hand stroking the outside of Ichigo’s thigh. “We’ll make it work.”  
  
Ichigo watches as Uryuu’s fingers tangle in Renji’s hair affectionately, more playful than desire inducing. “How?”  
  
“Do we have to work out the specifics now?” Uryuu retorts, and Ichigo doesn’t have to see his face to know that the Quincy is rolling his eyes. “It’ll be the same as it always has.”  
  
“Except you’ll stop pushing me?”  
  
“No, we’ll keep pushing,” Renji says with a small grin, rolling his neck to look up at Ichigo with bright amber eyes. “Just in a different direction than before.”  
  
“And you can do us both a favor and stop trying to leave,” Uryuu adds, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns over Ichigo’s chest. “It’s time consuming and pointless.”  
  
Typical Uryuu.  
  
“Yeah, and we’ll just keep comin’ after you,” Renji says.  
  
Typical Renji.  
  
Despite himself, Ichigo feels his mouth twitch toward a smile, one weak with fatigue, but a smile nonetheless.  
  
“I’m not leaving again,” he says, and he means it this time.  
  
He won’t say everything’s been fixed or solved. Ichigo’s pretty sure they’ll fight about something else again. It’s inevitable, with so much ego crammed into their arrangement, but it can be worked through and endured.  
  
Besides, Ichigo has the feeling no matter what happens, Uryuu and Reni plan on keeping them together. No matter what it takes. And Ichigo quite likes the sound of that.  


* * *


End file.
